Confessional
by knightshade
Summary: Michael wakes up with no idea where he is.


Title: Confessional  
Author: knightshade  
Rating: PG  
Summary: Michael wakes up with no idea where he is.

Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own them. But I sure do like them.

Author's Notes: Thank you so much to Nutty for pointing out the problems and giving me shove in the right direction. Thank you to Tomy for letting me ambush you into a beta. I miss you terribly.

**Confessional**

He was swimming in a haze of semi conscious confusion, when something finally brought him up to the surface, brought his mind back up through the murk. Slowly, lazily Michael Knight tried to open his eyes.

And couldn't.

Instinct kicked in and told him to freeze. Adrenaline and fear slashed through the serene haze in his mind.

Oh God, where was he?

He couldn't remember anything. And he couldn't think straight – his mind was a gauzy mess of confusion. He had no idea where he was. But there was definitely something across his eyes, some sort of blindfold keeping them shut. Not good. He wished he could quiet the thunder of his heartbeat and the rush of blood through the arteries near his ears. He needed to get a sense of his surroundings. As much as he could, he tried to focus his mind on listening to any sounds around him, any clue to his location.

It took most of the energy he had to calm down, but finally Michael started to pick up whispery voices and the clanking of things moving. But the sounds were muffled and distant, hard to hear. He tried to be patient and focus. He needed more information.

Then he heard something that made his chest clench.

There was slow, steady breathing very close by -- and it wasn't his own. Someone was in the room with him. Michael wrestled back the urge to panic. It wasn't going to help him any. Think! Think! Think! Why couldn't he think? What had happened? Where had he been? But the questions fell into a black mist that blanketed that part of his memory. He couldn't even remember what case they had been. . .

Kitt!

Damn he was thinking too slowly. Did he have his comlink? His first thought was to reach his right hand over and check, but that would alert whoever was in the room with him that he was conscious. Instead, Michael turned to his sense of touch to try to feel the comlink on his wrist. It didn't feel like he was restrained in anyway, but he couldn't tell if he still had his comlink . . .

Michael froze again. Man, his brain really was mush.

He sighed quietly and let his tense muscles relax back into the bed beneath him. He was still wary, but enemies rarely made it a habit of sitting by his bedside, holding his hand. The fingers were just barely laced through the tips of his and resting only lightly against his palm. The hand was slightly warm and comforting.

But there was still the question of why he was blindfolded.

Taking a chance that he wasn't in any immediate danger, Michael raised his free hand to his face. Carefully touching the fabric, he was relieved to find that it was soft and textured – gauze. Now that he thought about it, he wasn't really in any pain either. Granted, he hadn't tried to move much yet, but if he had been in a scrape, he'd at least have some aches and stiffness. Painkillers would explain their absence and the feeling that his mind was swimming through molasses. He had to be in a hospital. The bandage, the soft bed beneath him, someone holding his hand – it all fit. And now that he thought about it, he did notice an antiseptic quality to the air. It just had that smell. He reached down to his chest and found threadbare fabric. He followed the collar around to the back of his neck and found ties. It could only be a hospital gown.

He had to be in the hospital.

Under normal circumstances, he wouldn't be pleased about that fact – he hated hospitals – but right now it was much better than any of the alternatives. Exhaustion flooded into the spaces left void by his receding fear. He was tempted to just go to sleep. But he needed to know why he was here first. And why he had a bandage over his . . .

Oh God. Panic rode in on a wave of thoughts that were a tumble of nightmare scenarios and dark futures. Why would they bandage his eyes? What if . . .

He swallowed hard, and realized his mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton. He was suddenly overwhelmed with a need to talk to someone. He needed to find out what was going on, what was wrong with him. He needed reassurance.

At least he had a lifeline.

Michael slid his fingers into a tighter lace with the hand holding his and squeezed. At first nothing happened. The hand was limp in his so he squeezed harder. He tried to ask 'Hello?' but nothing came out.

There was a long moment of silence that he knew wasn't nearly as long as it felt. But then he began to hear faint rustles and the hand finally squeezed back.

"Michael, are you awake?" a groggy voice asked haltingly.

Bonnie. The relief he felt was almost tangible. Suddenly he wasn't alone anymore. He was with someone who cared about him. She gently pulled her hand away and he heard a chair scrape against the floor, being drawn closer. Then she embraced his hand in both of hers.

He nodded to let her know that he was awake and immediately regretted it. His head erupted in pain, leaving him helpless for a moment.

Bonnie rested a hand on his shoulder. "Try not to move, you've got a concussion."

Yeah, he got the message.

He waited while the pain slowly subsided, wanting to answer her. He tried to say that he was okay, but all he could manage was an unintelligible croak.

"Let me get you some water."

Michael's hand was cradled back down onto the bed. Then her chair scraped the floor again and he heard her footsteps moving off to his left. Styrofoam squeaked as water splashed into a cup. Then he felt a straw pressed lightly against his lips.

The water was cool and chased away some of the cotton. "Thanks." It was still a croak but at least it was recognizable as a word.

He heard the characteristic Styrofoam squeak again as Bonnie set the cup back down. "How are you feeling?" she asked.

"Okay. But why are my eyes bandaged?" he asked in his gravelly voice.

She took his hand again and Michael's heart caught in his throat. The space left by her pause and the sympathy in her gesture convinced Michael that his fears were true. He was blind.

"It's okay," she said. "It's nothing permanent. The doctors said you'll be able to see again in a day or two. You may already be able to see."

He wasn't sure he had heard correctly. He wasn't sure he believed her. But then, he also didn't think she'd lie about something as serious as this. Her voice sounded . . . He thought a minute. How did it sound? Hurried. But probably truthful.

"Why the bandages then?" he asked, hoping his voice didn't give away just how frightened he was.

She brushed his hair back from his temples. It was a soft, soothing gesture that helped set him a little more at ease. "It's just a precaution. There was an explosion. You were thrown back through a plate glass window and into a truck parked outside."

And in a flash there it was, or at least some of it. He remembered realizing that he had walked into a trap. He remembered a huge flash of light and a rolling sound that built quickly to a painful crescendo, but he didn't remember going through a window or hitting a truck. He knew his mind was riddled with tiny gaps like this, dating back to his time in the Army. He was well aware of the phenomenon of losing the last few minutes before a traumatic injury, but knowing that wasn't necessarily comforting. "I think I remember some of it."

"The UV radiation from the explosion caused what's called flash blindness. But it's temporary. Welders can get it too. It's kind of like a bad sunburn on your corneas."

Michael swallowed hard. "So I'm blind – at least for the moment?" he asked, feeling his chest constrict and his breathing get tight. He felt claustrophobic.

"Not necessarily," Bonnie answered quickly. "They said your vision might be blurred. They put the bandages on so that if it was, you wouldn't strain your eyes trying to see."

He tried to slow his breathing. "Or panic if I couldn't," he stated rather than asked, in part to calm himself down.

"There might have been a little of that, yes," she said, and he could hear the gentle smile in her voice. He tried to put an emotion to the sound. Amused, maybe, and that made him hopeful. She wouldn't be joking if he were seriously injured and she would never have made up a story this elaborate. He trusted her when she said he was going to be okay, but he still didn't like lying here with his eyes covered.

"Is anyone else here?" he asked, wanting to keep Bonnie talking, to hear her voice. He was starting to think that he could almost tell as much from her tone as he could from seeing her expressions. It gave him something to pay attention to, something to occupy his mind.

"Kitt's out in the parking lot. Your comlink's on the stand next to the bed, if you want to talk to him."

He did want to talk to Kitt, but not right now. He wanted to be on a little more solid footing before talking to his partner. He needed to convince himself he was all right before he could convince Kitt. But he wouldn't put it off for long.

"Devon left to get a few hours of sleep, but he'll be back in the morning," Bonnie continued.

Tired. He could tell she was tired. Well, he had woken her up, he knew that much. "What time is it?"

He heard the faintest of sighs. "A little after 2:30."

He felt guilty about her being here so late, but he was also selfishly glad she had stayed. "You should get some sleep too," he said. "I don't want to keep you up."

This time she laughed outright. "Since when has that stopped you? You always keep me up attending to Kitt at all hours."

"Bonnie, I don't . . ." he started, meaning to apologize. But she put a hand on his chest to stop him.

"No, it's okay. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I was just kidding." She leaned down and rested her cheek lightly against his shoulder – probably the closest they could come to a hug right now.

He wanted to stay that way – to just fall asleep feeling her head against his chest, and occasionally catching the lingering scent of her shampoo. "Thank you for being here," he said, hoping she could tell just how much he meant by it.

"I wouldn't be anywhere else."

Sincere. He actually felt himself smile. "How come they didn't kick you out when visiting hours were over?"

She didn't answer right away. "I think they decided it would be better to have someone you knew with you when you woke up, because of the bandages. I don't think they have enough nurses for someone to be here all the time."

"Makes sense." Although, something in the pause, something in her tone, said that maybe that wasn't the whole story. There was something more. Maybe she had argued with them. He wouldn't put it past her. In fact, he could almost see her going toe-to-toe with a nurse bent on sending her out to the lounge for the night. It made him smile a bit.

"Actually, I should probably let someone know you're awake," she said. And suddenly her head was gone, she was pulling away.

"No," he said a bit too quickly. "That's alright. They'll have plenty of time to treat me like a pin cushion in the morning," he covered. But why was he always covering? Why couldn't he just tell her what he needed? Hell, he was in the hospital, he might as well. He could always blame the painkillers if he needed to later. "I'd really just like it if you'd stay for a while."

This time there wasn't any hesitation. "Of course, Michael." He was surprised when he felt her hair brush against his chin and her lips press lightly against his forehead. "You really gave us a scare," she said in a whisper near his ear before taking his hand in both of hers again.

Sincere. Well, no, that wasn't quite right. It was something close to that, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. He turned it over in his mind a moment before the right word finally struck him – confessional. And with that thought everything else -- the pain, the confusion, the fear -- all receded. Michael suddenly felt like he had everything he needed.

Maybe hospitals weren't so bad after all.

---------------  
-knightshade  
-January 21, 2005


End file.
